


A Tavern on the Sea

by CavannaRose



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Pirates, Taverns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6415981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young tavern owner considers why she loves what she does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kiri's tavern had no name. It simple existed. Just one of hundreds of wooden buildings thrown up along the shore of the island, a weather-worn sign featuring the image of a tankard burnt in. Examining it, the blonde tucked her hair back under her kerchief, noting that she'd need to get the carpenter further inland to redo the sign in the near future. One problem about coastal living, anything outside got worn away over time by the salt, damp, and constant storms blowing in from the ocean.

Ah, but how could one live somewhere so far from the sea that salt didn't rim your lips when you woke, and the crashing of the surf didn't sing you to sleep as dawn slowly broke over the horizon? The men she served were truly no rougher trade than you'd find in any tavern buried deep in the mainland, but she liked to consider 'her boys' unique. Old salty dogs and unabashed pirates, with an assortment of deformities left behind of years fighting man and sea. They cursed and fought and drank like no one else she'd ever encountered, but she loved every one of the foul cretins, in her own motherly way.

She was still young, though grey was starting to thread through her once golden locks, and the beginning of crows feet crept from the corner of her still brilliantly blue eyes. Many questioned her choice to continue running the tavern when her late husband, God rest his soul, passed on from this world to the next. How could a wee slip of womanhood like herself hope to wrangle such foul custom into behaving? What they failed to notice was the stubborn set of her chin, and the steel that laced her spine. No one who started trouble ever finished it. She was a fearsome opponent, armed with a heavy wooden spoon, and those she couldn't control had to face down Cookie, a scarred man with a gentle soul and a left hook like an anvil coming out of the sky.

Her tavern, her pride and joy, was one of the safest on the seaboard. Her serving girls didn't have to deal with being fondled, nobody roughed up the pot boy, and purses remained on the belts of the one who brought them in, albeit lighter in testament to the fine beverage and belly-warming meals trotted out for their enjoyment. She didn't water the ale or flush out the bread with fillers, and the stew was heavy on meat. Why waste time doing things wrong, when doing them right satisfied not only the customers, but her own sense of pride?

All in all, what she ran was a haven for those dancing on the edge of the law. Pirates, privateers, buccaneers and various other bottom feeders could come in and be treated like human beings. She scolded and bullied and scattered affection like an old mother. She had never been blessed with children, and disinclined to venture into matrimony once more, she had adopted her motley crew of sea dogs. They came for the food, and stayed for the good-natured abuse. Though they ventured far afield, each seeking an easy fortune in their own way, they always came home to roost, and it filled Widow West with pride and even love. This was what life was about. This was why she did what she did.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a day like any other. Kiri was blessed in that her clientele was not known for their early mornings. Not having much reason to stay abed these days, she woke long before her drunken custom, dressing in the mid-morning light with the music of the ocean her only company. Despite the somewhat chaotic nature of her tavern, the widow was a woman of routine, taking comfort in the familiarity of her small habits. She picked up her laundry basket and began her morning rounds.

One by one she checked on her people, first down the hall to ease open Cookie's door, smiling as the big man snored away on his bed. She moved around his room, picking up his dirty laundry and placing it in the basket at her hip with a look of fond amusement. She never could teach the man to be tidy. Placing down her basket she turns to the corner of the room where the pot boy's cot was. The wee darling had kicked off all his blankets again, so she carefully picked them up and covered the young lad one more. She frowned at the thin material in her hand. She was going to have to replace the linens soon.

The boys settled, she picks up her basket and exits as quietly as she entered, crossing the hall to where the two serving girls slept next. She opened the door a crack to check on them, her expression softening at their angelic faces. They were good lasses, and they worked really hard. She made a mental note to give them each a half day this week, they were looking a little haggard around the edges. The life wasn't for everyone, but she'd watch out for them while they figured out what they wanted out of life. Unlike the lads, the girls left their laundry neatly folded by the door for her, so she scooped it up and went down to the second floor where the guests slept.

They had two overnight guests currently, a rascally old sea dog that had taken to spending more time on land, at the tavern, than on the sea. Age caught up with all men in the end. He was a sour old cuss, but always had a smile for the serving staff. Some of these ornery buggers hid a true heart of gold. He'd left what he needed laundered in front of his door, and she toppled it on top of the ever growing mound in her basket.

The last guest troubled her. She was positive he was some lesser nobility at the least. He comported himself like a gentleman, though he was acting as just another weary traveler. His mannerisms were too refined, his clothing too high quality, and he'd paid her with gold. Sure she wasn't going to give up his game, it wasn't her place, but she worried for the rascals she harboured. If he was some officer of the law, he would soon learn that no one apprehended pirates on her watch. They were just making a living in the only way the world offered those enamored of the sea but not born to wealth. He hadn't left anything out for washing, for which she was grateful. The harsh lye soap she used would not be suited for the fragile weave of his high quality materials.

Everything that needed washing gathered, she headed down to the kitchen to set the tub a-boil. If the lasses got up in time, they'd be able to hop in for a bath after the clothes were cleaned. Adding the shredded curls of lye soap to the steaming water, she grabs the washboard and begins the vigorous process of agitating the stains from the garments. The heat soaked into her hands, combining with the harshness of the detergent to leave them red and raw, but still Kiri smiled, singing tunelessly along with the crash of the surf outside. Here, in this moment, was contentment.


End file.
